


Automaticon

by JordanUlysses



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Asexuality, F/M, Family, Friendship, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-07 06:56:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15903180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JordanUlysses/pseuds/JordanUlysses
Summary: "The thought occurs, sir, that if Commander Vimes did not exist you would have to invent him.""You know, Drumknott, I rather think I did."["Feet of Clay"]A steampunk!AU set sometime before and after "Guards! Guards!".





	1. Havelock's Monster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Siri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siri/gifts).



> The idea for this story developed when my dear Siri started to talk about "Detroit: Becoming Human" and we wondered about possible AUs. For Discworld we thought up a sort of steampunk context. In the end it did not really reference DBH, but was still a lot of fun to write.  
> A big thank you to Siri, Shenno and Tony for reading it over and giving me tips and confidence!  
> I will post the second chapter on Friday and the last on Sunday.

The Patrician opened the door without knocking. The sight was a familiar one, the room bare and bleak. There was an undisturbed bed, and a table and a chair at the smudged window. A single light came from a flickering lamp. The armour leaning against a small chest at the end of the bed was the only personal touch.  
Sam sat motionless on the chair. In front of him was a tall glass, a rest of the golden liquid at its base. There was a green tinge to the fluid and Vetinari sighed.  
“Samuel,“ he asked sharply. “Are you drunk again?“  
Nothing happened at first, which was answer enough. Then, there was a faint clicking sound and Sam slowly turned his head and opened his eyes to look at him.  
“So what?” he asked, followed by a raspy laugh. “Are you going to reprimand me?”  
“If only that would work,” Vetinari said and approached the chest. Setting aside the armour he opened the lid. Inside were spare clothes, tools spilling out of a satchel and a bottle filled with only a rest of golden liquid.  
“That's my stuff,” Sam voice was pressed.  
Vetinari glanced at him. “So, why don't you take better care of it?” he took the bottle and replaced it with a full one from his bag.  
“It's none of your business.”  
“That we disagree on,” Vetinari stood up again and went over to the table. Sam rose and straightened himself, the clicking and whirring now more audible.  
“Do I need to explain, again, why this poison you put in your fuel is bad for you?” Vetinari tried to sound patient.  
“The only thing you need to do is leave. You are good at that after all.”  
Vetinari was quiet for a moment, wondering not for the first time where he had gone wrong. Sam was mostly functioning well, but the problem with sentient automaticons was the element of randomness and unpredictability. Of course there were things he could have done better or different, and maybe then Sam would not have turned out so mouthy and self-destructive[1]. But there were far worse options than those and while he could certainly do some tweaking, to work with an already established consciousness was dangerous business.  
“I just want to have a look at your circuits,” he said after a moment. “You know this stuff messes with them. And that whirring sounds like I need to clean out your arteries and veins, again.”  
“I can repair myself,” Sam crossed his arms.  
“Oh, you mean like last month, when I found you opened up on this floor, nearly having bled out?” Vetinari could not keep the anger out of his voice. He had been frightened by the sight and the repairs had taken nearly a whole day. During which he had not even been sure if it would work and Sam would come to again. Since sentient automaticons were illegal and thus very rare, there was nearly no literature and experience to draw on. No one knew if they could be revived if bled dry. And if so, if they would be the same.[2]  
“Just … leave me alone. Why do you even care?” Sam scowled.  
“Because I made you,” Vetinari replied.  
“And then you abandoned me,” Sam shot back.  
“If I had abandoned you, I would not be here, would I?” It was a tired old argument, but he was not in a position to explain his actions.  
“I don't want you to touch me. I don't want you to come here again,” Sam bit out the words.  
“Fine,” Vetinari threw up his hands, taking a small step in Sam's direction. “How will you get your fuel then?”  
Sam took a step back, balling his hands into fists. There was a loud screeching as he moved his fingers. “I have a salary,” he said.  
“Right. It happens that I very well know how much that is. It would scarcely cover the costs of your fuel, but then you wouldn't be able to buy your fuchsite. So maybe that is exactly what I should do.”  
“Ah, now you admit that that is what you care about? That you have to spend so much money on me? Because I did not ask you to!” Sam uncrossed his arms and raised his hand. Vetinari was faster.  
If the automaticon had been sober, Vetinari would not have stood a chance against him. But he was not, and Vetinari could easily reach the little spot behind Sam's left ear. He pressed it for a few seconds and watched the life drain out of Sam's eyes, his protest dying on his lips. 

First, he closed the window properly. The room was cold, and Sam regularly seemed to forget to close the latch. Then, he got out a waxed sheet from his bag and draped it over the bed. Undressing and arranging Sam on it face down was not easy, he was as heavy as a real man his size. The flaps to the left and right along his spine opened to reveal a delicate clockwork system. A green shimmer was clearly visible in the veins and arteries running up and down the body.  
But, before Vetinari set to clean the system, he opened the back of Sam's head, taking a look at the circuits. A few of them had melted down, as predicted, and he decided to first take care of them. He would also have to take a look at the hands. The screeching was probably down to the general pollution of the system, but it could also be the joints.  
He turned up the lamp, lit a few additional candles and put on his glasses, getting to work.

In the end, he had to run out to get new joints for Sam's hands. Two had to be replaced in his left and one in his right. He had probably been in a fight again, the skin was torn and not yet healed on his knuckles. No wonder when he polluted his fuel all the time.  
It was still dark when he finally finished, although a few birds had started to sing. He carefully closed Sam up again. Stretching out his own limbs he had to stifle a yawn. Maybe he would manage a nap before the day's business began.  
Tucked under the bed, inside the frame, he found a metal tin, which he pocketed. He did not have to look inside to know that it held the fuchsite.  
Then, he bent over Sam and pressed the spot behind his ear. It would take him a few minutes to start up, enough time for Vetinari to leave. He would check in on him during the day, from afar, to make sure everything was working properly. But for at least a week or so he would make sure not to meet Sam face-to-face.  
For now, he took the blanket he had put aside earlier and covered the automaticon, stroking Sam's hair out of his face.  
Whatever Sam thought of his own existence, he was a wonder. Vetinari had built him because he wanted to see if he could, because he had been bored and the idea of a perfect assassin had been too alluring to resist. And Sam had delivered flawless work a few times, but then he had only gathered dust in the corner of a basement. Vetinari did not actually need or want any help doing his job. He had enjoyed the building more than the use he got out of the automaticon. And then everything had changed when Lord Snapcase turned out to be unsuitable as a leader and Vetinari had to make a decision.  
Sam hated his existence, hated the injustice he saw around him. What he did not understand was that he was exactly where Vetinari needed him to be. 

He quietly closed the door behind him, having taken one last look at the motionless figure on the bed. What he also did not understand was that Vetinari genuinely cared for him. Or maybe he did, and the drinking was not just a way to escape a bleak reality, but also a punishment for his creator.

~*~*~*~*~

1Some days he was not sure what was worse.[return to text]

2It was an unsurprising irony that while these questions so far remained unanswered, there was already a market for a kind of alcohol to be consumed by sentient automaticons. Fuchsite, a green powder which was to be mixed with the fuel, was rare and hard to come by. Sam's position in the Night Watch did not come with many privileges, but he seemed to be able to access the black market easily.[return to text]


	2. Sybil's Fiancé

Sam was quiet for a long time. Sybil could not see what was going on inside him, but she could imagine the wheels turning, the golden liquid pumping through his veins, electricity crackling over the circuits. She felt her own smile becoming shaky, and had to grab the fabric of her dress tight beneath the table.  
“I do not understand,” he said carefully. “If you need help around the house, I can lend you a hand whenever possible.”  
“Sam,” she sighed and with that sound felt herself becoming smaller. “It's not about you helping me, it's about me helping you.”  
“You already have done so much for me,” he replied. “I do not know how I would have gotten through the past weeks without you.”  
“And I want to do more. If we marry, you'll be protected by my name and status.”  
“I don't need protection,” he said, far too quickly.  
Sybil took a deep breath. She had thought about this a great deal, she was not a woman to make decisions carelessly. However, from the moment this particular thought had first appeared, she had felt that it was the right thing to do.  
“Wonse tried to use your nature to discredit your opinion, your work,” she tried again. “And it's a fact that sentient automaticons are still illegal. If people knew that a third of my dragons are sentient I would have another mob on my doorstep.”  
“I managed all those years.”  
“But now a few people in the city know. Which means, soon enough the whole city will know.”  
“I ...,” he hesitated. “They also know about Errol. Won't they come and ask questions?”  
“Maybe,” she shrugged, brushing off his effort to derail the topic. “I have ways to deal with nosy people.”  
“So do I. I mean …,” now he sighed and leaned back into his chair, closing his eyes. “You are right. Things have changed. Everyone is celebrating the Watch, because we defeated the dragon. They think we are heroes.”  
“You are.”  
“Nah, we just got lucky. And for now that is still holding … But every moment someone could demand that I'd be switched off. And there is no one who is interested enough in me to protect me. Except you and … I cannot use you like this,” he opened his eyes again, his gaze clear. “It's not a reason to marry. Not for you, and not for me. You should marry someone who makes you happy.”  
“And if you make me happy?” She blurted the words out before she could think about them. She had thought of a script, arguments to use, points to make, but with that simple statement he had made all that futile. She could feel her cheeks getting hot, but found the strength to speak on. “Because you do. You make me laugh, you listen to my ramblings … you saved me from the dragon. And yes, I am also interested in you because I work with automaticons, and you are a wonder, and you have a beautiful soul.”  
“But …,” he stared at her and she was amazed to see him blush – she had not realised he was capable of that. “You know how I am build. I cannot be a husband to you.”  
“I do know,” she said softly.  
“And it does not matter to you? At all?”  
Now she hesitated for a long moment, taking a sip of her water and clearing her throat. “I have never cared for those things,” she said slowly. “I have my work, which makes me happy, but … I am lonely. And I do work to distract myself from it, and I have friends who help, but sometimes … it's not enough. It's just that a traditional family never seemed like a suitable solution to me.”  
“And I am suitable?”  
“I think that we can help each other a great deal. Everything else we will work out.”  
And that was the point. There was only so much that could be rationalised and thought through, in the end you had to trust that things would work out. Trust in the universe, trust in each other. And it was scary, but she was ready to take that leap of faith. To intertwine her life with his, whatever it would bring.  
Sam slowly took another bite of his pie. He had eaten most of the food that had been set before him, under Sybil's watchful eyes.  
“Is there fuel in this?” he asked.  
“Yes,” she chuckled. “You finally noticed.”  
“My energy is up,” he sat up straighter, his gaze fixed on her. “You … made this for me?”  
“I told the cook. But I will cook for you myself, and I'm sure there is lots of room for improvement. I know eating is just a social obligation for you, and that it usually has no benefits whatsoever.”  
“And it's annoying to clean out,” Sam murmured.  
“Do you like it?”  
“I … yes. It just seems like a lot of effort for something I can just chug.”  
“I do not see it as an effort. There are certain obligations that come with my position in society and I would want to make them as bearable as possible for you.” He pulled a face at her words and she could not help but grin. “Of course, if you would not want to attend ...”  
He slowly shook his head. “I don't know. Yet. This is a lot to think about.”  
“But you are not disinclined?” she asked carefully.  
“I can see the merits it would have,” he said. “And … I do like you. You are brave, and kind ...”  
His words filled her with warmth, but then he spoke on.  
“It's just, I do not think my creator will like it if I marry.”  
“I didn't realise you cared for his opinion.”  
“I do not,” Sam smiled at her for the first time since the conversation had started.  
“So …,” she chuckled. “Is that a yes?”  
“I suppose … do you know who made me? I would not want him to be cross with you.”  
“Havelock?” she asked. When he had joined the Assassin's Guild they had seen less of each other, but she remembered his sudden interest in automaticons. He had come to her a few times for advice, his questions always veiled in social niceties. He had borrowed a few books, most of which she had not gotten back. And there was the fact that the Patrician had to approve the watch men, and appoint their superior officers. It seemed a perfect position from which to hide something – someone – illegal.  
“Who?” Sam asked.  
“Havelock … Vetinari. The Patrician. It's not him?”  
She could imagine the wheels turning again. “I did not know his first name. I never thought about it, to be honest.”  
“Well, believe me, he would not dare to be cross with me,” she shrugged and now he laughed out loud.  
“That's a yes then,” he said and she could feel something clicking into place. 

“There is just one thing,” Sybil said. They had moved to the mauve coloured library, her favourite. It had the least books in all the different libraries of the house, but they were all texts related to automaticons. Her interest had begun when her aunt had nearly thrown away a malfunctioning dragon. Sybil had spent days taking it apart and putting it back together. This particular fashion had started during her childhood and before that automaticons had been even rarer. The first ones, as far as she could tell had been built in an attempt to create cheap labourers. But the building and maintaining was far too expensive and so creative tinkerers had come up with another purpose: automated dragons as accessories for the wealthy. Only that the wealthy had even less patience to properly take care of their new pets, and so most ended up as garbage. Sybil had made it her passion to collect and repair them, an eccentric hobby as cover for her real work: Saving and taking care of those automaticons that had been made sentient.  
She was not quite sure when the first sentient ones had appeared and who had created the magic ritual to achieve it, but while it was illegal, it had become a fashion on its own. She knew of soirees where people paid exorbitant sums to see a machinated dragon turned alive, the poor creatures afterwards abandoned, if not killed and used again and again.  
“What is it?” Sam said and Sybil realised that she had stared into the fire for quite some time, her thoughts having taken her far away.  
She sat up and collected herself. “The drugs. The fuchsite. I know you take it regularly, and when we marry, I want – I need you to stop.”  
There was a faint whirring as Sam shifted in his chair.  
“You do understand the necessity?”  
“Yes. I never took it because I thought it was good for me,” he mumbled.  
“If you want, I can make some adjustments,” she gestured at his head. “To make it easier for you.”  
“No,” he said quickly. “That wouldn't … you are right, I should stop using fuchsite. But if I stop, I need to do it on my own.”  
“It won't be easy.”  
“I know. But … you deserve something better than what I am now.”  
She shook her head softly. “I appreciate that you want to do this. But if it becomes too hard, the offer still stands. Will you at least allow me to repair the damage the fuchsite has done to your system?”  
“I thought Vetinari repaired everything?”  
“Well,” she said slowly. “The immediate damage, yes. But when I had you open I could see traces of some long-term ramifications. I would propose Havelock does not know half as much about automaticons as I do.”  
“Or he did it on purpose …,” Sam said slowly, his eyes narrowing.  
“That you have to ask him,” she said kindly and then reached out to take his hand. His fingers felt warm in hers and he squeezed back, offering her a smile.  
“Would you like me to tell him about us?” she asked.  
“No, I need to do that myself as well. Do you think …,” he hesitated. “Errol and the great dragon, that was more than what their creators built them for.”  
“Yes, of course. They were sentient, just like you. It was emotion. Attraction. Magic. Whatever word you want to use for it.”  
“Do you think that I am capable of that as well?”  
“You tell me,” she squeezed his hand and he looked at her again, nodding slowly.


	3. Animaticon

Sam pushed open the door to his room. He had not yet managed to move his stuff to Pseudopolis Yard, too much had been going on since they defeated the dragon. He helped to rebuild the city from the damage the dragon had left, there had been various social functions organised by grateful citizens he could not avoid, and of course he had spent a lot of time with Sybil as well. And not only at her request – he found he liked the company of someone who saw him for what he was. An automaticon, but also more than that. A person in his own right, with emotions and wants and needs that could not always be explained. And now they were engaged and … he felt a warm glow deep in his chest and a lightness to his step.  
He startled as he saw the black clad figure sitting calmly on his bed.  
“What … I locked my door,” he went over to the table to put down his helmet, not looking at the man.  
“Yes, you did. I am here because I wanted to congratulate you personally.”  
“It's not even been a day!” Sam turned around. He was not actually surprised, but he had hoped to have a bit longer to prepare for this moment.  
Vetinari just regarded him calmly. “Indeed. Probably not enough time for you to realise that you cannot marry.”  
“You just congratulated me!” Sam nearly shouted. He knew what Vetinari would say. All the reasons against the marriage, and they would sound so logical, like the voice in his own head.  
“And I thought my fondness for sarcasm was well known,” Vetinari sighed and crossed his legs, looking utterly relaxed, while Sam was clenching his fists.  
“It's my decision,” he said, forcing his voice to be quieter. “My life. You have no say over it.”  
“Is that so? Perhaps you have forgotten who created you?”  
“I wish I could,” Sam said and heavily sat down on the chair.  
A bitter smile tugged on Vetinari's lips, before he spoke on. “I am aware that you hold me in no regards. But I have created you. I built you. You are my responsibility.”  
“You have never taken that seriously. Why start now? Because I'm finally doing something for myself? Something that may make me happy? Is that it?” He realised he was getting louder again, but did not care. “You don't want me to be happy! You want me to be miserable and lonely, and the Gods forbid that my life has a point!”  
“Sometimes,” Vetinari said quietly, “certain things have to be sacrificed for a greater purpose.”  
“And what purpose is that? What is my purpose?” Sam stood up and took a step towards the bed. Vetinari looked up at him, still calm.  
“All those years,” he said after a long moment, “you've done exactly as you were supposed to.”  
“All those years,” Sam repeated, a faint whirring audible as he shifted his weight, “I was miserable. I could not do anything with my life.”  
“You were – you are a watchman. Serving the city, doing your job.”  
“You took great care to make that job useless,” Sam laughed dryly. “The Night Watch is a joke. Twelve o'clock and all's well – except it isn't.”  
“Tell me …,” Vetinari hesitated for a moment, but then spoke on. “If things are not well, why did you not do something about it?”  
“Why … what kind of question is that? We had no say, no power! Even now the situation has barely improved.”  
“I mean you personally. The city, it operates the way it does because of laws that I passed, changes that I made. You know that, right?”  
Sam just stared at him.  
“So, if everything is awful because of me, then why haven't you done something about it?”  
“I … it's awful, but it works,” he bit out the words, hating that he had to admit it. “Somehow it all balances out and it works.”  
“And if I were to be a … proper tyrant? If I started to kill people by the dozens, hang them on the city wall, spend the city's funds on my own amusement? Would you let that go on?”  
“No,” Sam said without even thinking about it. “I would not. I would stop you.”  
Vetinari nodded, that sad half-smile on his face again. “That is your purpose,” he said. “To watch me and to make sure that I don't go to far.”  
“You …,” Sam suddenly felt numb, disconnected from his body. He went back to his chair and sat down again, waiting for the sensation to pass. “You intended me to be a … fail-safe?”  
“That's a good way of putting it. When I prepared to become Patrician, I was very conscious about my predecessors failings. Power is a dangerous thing and it corrupts the best of men. I am of course not a good man at all, and even though that puts me in a position to see things more clearly and varied, I do not see myself above corruption.”  
“So … hold on,” Sam interrupted, “you gave me morality.”  
“Yes. Now I shudder at the thought that I changed your consciousness, but it seemed to have worked quite well.”  
“You gave me morals, so I would be able to judge you. And take you out if you went to far.”  
“Yes. And that's why I could not let you close to me. You needed to be an outsider, to be able to see me clearly.”  
Sam snorted. “I don't think I ever saw you clearly. I hated you. I still do.”  
“Which is even better. Don't you see? You despise me, and still you have not taken action against me. That tells me that my reign over this city is not half bad.”  
Sam looked down at his hands, sensation slowly coming back. He should be angry at Vetinari, should he not? The man had used him, had not cared that his life was miserable. But the problem was, Sam realised as he curled his fingers, feeling the fuel pumping through his body, he understood.  
“And now?” he asked. “Things have changed, haven't they? People know what I am. They know that I shouldn't exist. That's why Sybil wants to marry me. To protect me.”  
“Lady Sybil has a noble soul,” Vetinari said. “But it is not a solution.”  
“Why not? I like her. She likes me. We could be happy together. You have never cared for my happiness – but can't you allow me that now?”  
Vetinari slowly shook his head. “It could have repercussions that I cannot predict. And it might put Lady Sybil in danger as well. Surely you would not want that.”  
“So what then? I just … stay in the Night Watch? Continue my life as if nothing has happened?”  
“No,” Vetinari stood up slowly, unfolding his limbs. His face was passive, his eyes not giving away anything. “I am sorry that it has come to this, Samuel. But I don't see another option.”  
“No,” Sam jumped up and stumbled back, the realisation like a punch in the stomach. “You can't! You can't switch me off!” He hit the window with his back, which swung open. He seemed to have forgotten to close the hatch again.  
“Sam, it's the only way,” Vetinari came closer. “The situation, as you so rightly pointed out, has changed. Maybe, in a few years I can find another life for you, but for now …,” he reached out and Sam could nearly feel the warmth of his fingers before he whirled around and heaved himself up onto the window sill.  
He landed on his shoulder, his arms covering his head as he rolled over his back. Lying in the mud he stared towards his window, Vetinari's impassive face only visible for a moment before he stepped back into the room. 

He did not know how he made his way to Scoone Avenue, his feet had taken over quite quickly. Sybil opened the door as Sam just raised his hand to knock.  
"Oh Sam. I was just about to leave for the Sanctuary ... what happened to you?"  
He managed a smile just barely. His clothes were torn and muddy from the fall and he could feel something inside his body leaking.  
"I jump-ed out of t-he win-dow," he said slowly, the words hard to form. "Vet-Vet-inari, he ... want-s to sw-itch me o-ff."  
“Oh,” she just said, and then she took his hand and pulled him inside. 

Sam could hear someone entering quietly. Not Sybil, her step was more heavy and that scent … He lay motionless, his eyes still closed as he could hear the Patrician sitting down. Sybil had repaired him, but apparently a few of his toes were broken as well which they had only discovered when he was getting up again. Sybil had left to get some spare parts and Sam had lain back again, preserving his energy.  
Vetinati did not seem to do anything and Sam wondered if he should open his eyes and try to confront him, but then he could hear Sybil approaching and opening the door.  
“Havelock!” she exclaimed and he heard how Vetinari got up.  
“Forgive the intrusion, Lady Sybil.”  
“It seems to be a habit,” she said rather curtly and Sam nearly smiled.  
“I was worried about Samuel. He had … an accident.”  
“It was no accident. He told me you want to switch him off, so he jumped out of a window!”  
Vetinari sighed. “Indeed. Surely you understand the necessity.”  
“No, I do not,” Sybil came closer to the bed and sat down, the mattress dipping in her direction. She reached out and stroke his hair out of his face. “Don't you see what you've done? You created someone so beautiful, so special. Could you really destroy him?”  
“I do not intend to destroy him. Only to switch him off, until it's safe for him again.”  
“No,” Sybil said firmly. “No. Whatever you have used him for in the past, it's over. And it has lost you any rights to decide about his life, not that you ever should have done that.”  
“I built him,” Vetinari said, but Sam thought he could hear his voice wavering.  
“You created him,” Sybil said. “You created a life! That does not mean that you own him. He is not yours. He is not simply an automaticon, he is … animated. Don't you understand that?”  
Silence descended on the room. Sybil squeezed his hand and he lightly squeezed back.  
“If I am not responsible for him,” Vetinari said slowly, “I also won't be responsible for anything that happens because of his actions now. If you want to marry him, then that is your decision and I won't have any part in it.”  
“Havelock, there is no need to be like that,” Sybil raised, but Sam could hear hurried steps and the door closing. He opened his eyes and found Sybil studying his face, a deep frown on her forehead.  
“Thank you,” he said.  
She shook her head. “I spoke only the truth. Havelock … I think he is quite lonely. And no one really is brave enough to talk back to him, which does not help matters. Oh well, let me take care of your toes, alright?”

Sam had, with the help of Carrot, moved his belongings to Pseudopolis Yard the next day. He had often thought that the Night Watch was quite a sorry bunch, but at least they had never questioned his nature.[3] And since young Carrot had joined them, a strange inexplicable shift had taken place. They still shouted “All's well”, but by now they tried their best that it actually was.  
Sybil came by a few days later, bringing cake for everyone and asking Nobby to make some tea and bring it upstairs to Sam's office. They sat down together (Sam having filled his delicate porcelain cup with fuel) and it was only when Sybil was already telling a story about one of the young girls working with her[4] that he noticed the third, unused cup.  
“Are we waiting for someone?” he asked when Sybil took a sip of tea.  
“In fact we are,” she mumbled and he suddenly had a bad feeling.  
“What …” - a knock on the door let him look up. “Come in,” he said, his brow furrowed.  
The Patrician entered and Sybil got up quickly. “I just remembered,” she exclaimed, “I promised Emma to go by her mother's place, poor old lady has fallen sick again …,” she came around the desk to kiss Sam's cheek and before either of the men could protest had left the room.  
Vetinari stood very straight and Sam leaned back in his chair, glad that he had leaned his baton against his desk.  
“Why are you here?” he asked. “Apart from Sybil setting this up.”  
“May I sit down?” Vetinari asked and Sam nodded, but he did not offer him a cup of tea.  
“Lady Sybil came by the palace yesterday and we had a … I think she would call it 'chat'.”  
Sam could hear the quotation marks slicing the air. “I did not know,” he said.  
“Yes, she emphasised that it was her idea. But apart from her visit, I thought a lot about the situation between us and … I realised that I need to – want to – apologise.”  
Sam stared at him, turning the words in his head. “For what exactly?” he asked eventually.  
“Everything, I suppose. I always thought you to be mine, but Lady Sybil is right. The moment I gave you sentience … you became your own person. After our altercation a few days ago, I thought I could just leave you be, wash my hands of you.”  
“Yeah, I heard you. When you broke into Sybil's house after she took care of me,” he elaborated at Vetinari's questioning glance. “You said you would not be responsible for what we do.”  
“But I am,” Vetinari said. “In a way.”  
“You just said you realised that you don't have any say over my life!” Sam could feel his heart beating faster and nudged the baton with his foot.  
“I don't,” Vetinari held up a hand. “In a way. What I realised, with the help of your fianceé, is that I consider you family. I want to be a part of your life, Sam, but it is of course your decision if you let me in.”  
Sam slowly took his cup and drank the fuel to the last drop, very carefully setting it down again. Of course Vetinari was family, he was his creator after all. However, he had always thought that being family did not necessarily mean that you liked each other or got along. The question was if he could forgive Vetinari. Sybil seemed to believe he deserved a second chance and Sam trusted her judgment. And looking at Vetinari now, studying his expression and his eyes, he had the feeling that he was sincere about his intentions.  
“That took you a very long time to realise,” he said eventually and at his words a smile appeared on Vetinari's face for a moment – small, but genuine.  
“But a few things have to be clear,” Sam continued. “One, you need to respect my privacy. No more coming into my spaces uninvited.”  
Vetinari nodded.  
“Two, if you want to give me advice about my life, I might listen, but that doesn't mean I will follow it. You have to respect that I make my own decisions.”  
Another nod was the answer.  
“Three, Sybil will take care of repairing me from now on. I don't trust you to do it properly.”  
Not a nod, but a questioning glance was the answer this time.  
“She said that there's some long-term damage, which either you haven't detected, or worse: you left deliberately,” he let the words hang in the air for a moment. Vetinari did not move a muscle, but he could see the hurt in his eyes. “But I know that even you would not do that,” he spoke on. “I considered it, but in the end I cannot believe it. So, don't prove me wrong.”  
Vetinari took a deep breath. “I am not an expert in the care of automaticons,” he said. “But I can only assure you that I would have never hurt you knowingly.”  
“Good,” Sam said, “which brings us to number four: I don't care how you do it, but I want you to change the law. Make me and all sentient automaticons legal. Give us the same rights people have.”  
“How many more points are there?” Vetinari said and Sam glowered at him, before they both smiled.  
“There's just one thing more,” Sam huffed. “A proposal for the law, or whatever it will be.”  
“Yes?” Vetinari asked.  
“It's about what we are called. Sybil came up with the idea, and … it just feels right. I am not an automaticon. I am an animaticon. That's what I want us to be called.”  
“I will see what I can do,” Vetinari said. “And I promise you that I will do my best.”  
“I guess that's all I can ask,” Sam replied and he could feel an unexpected warmth spreading through his chest as they shared another, genuine smile.

~*~*~*~*~

3To be fair, at least Nobby was not in a position to question other people about their nature; his own generally being a mystery.[return to text]

4Sara? Jane? Emma? Sam found it impossible to remember them. [return to text]


End file.
